


A Pound of Flesh

by Brandon_McAuley



Series: The Misadventures of Detective Asshole & His Android [5]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Crime Fighting, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Organized Crime, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-08-10 02:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16461386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brandon_McAuley/pseuds/Brandon_McAuley
Summary: Detective Gavin Reed is missing.HisGavin Reed. And there's going to be hell to pay.





	1. Fears Like Daggers

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the final part to the series! I hope you guys enjoy. I'm really looking forward to going on this wild ride with you. Feel free to leave comments, I live for that shit. ;)

He doesn't really have time to think about it. Gavin has his arms full with a week's worth of groceries, and then next thing he knows, he's letting them drop from his grip to smash against the cold pavement of the sidewalk.

There's a child screaming, calling for help. The boy's cries bounce off the damp brick walls of the alleyway.

Gavin's mind doesn't register the danger. His legs are already propelling him forward. It doesn't occur to him that this could be the seventh kidnapping this week.

No. He just wants to save this boy. The case can wait. The child needs help.

There are four men, clad from head to toe in black. Their faces are obscured with ski masks. One of them as his arms around the little boy, no older than eight.

"Let me go!" he shrieks. He kicks and he bites, but his attempts to escape are futile. The men are too strong, too massively intimidating. But that's never stopped Gavin from diving head-first into danger. It's his job to take risks. It's his job to help people. 

And right now, this little boy needed all the help he could get. Even if it was from a man who was severely outnumbered and outgunned.

Gavin flashes the badge he has hooked to his belt, drawing his service pistol. "DPD, freeze! Put your hands where I can see them."

But these men, whoever they are, aren't about to let one measly police officer get in their way. The man with his arms around the child continues to drag him off and throw him into the back of a waiting white van. The other three square up, one of them slipping on a pair of brass knuckles, the other two drawing their own Glocks.

"Don't do anything stupid," warns Gavin. His eyes shift from man to man, trying to find an opening. There are none. The boy is still screaming for help, cries high-pitched and cracking.

All three attackers move in at the same time. The man with the brass knuckles takes a powerful swing at Gavin's head, but the detective manages to duck out of the way. Gavin can feel the rush of the air from the devastating force of the man's follow-through. Gavin uses the assailant's momentum to his advantage, grabbing onto his wrist and flipping the man over his shoulder. He lands with a heavy, painful  _thud_ on the cold pavement. The suspect hits his head hard enough that Gavin swears he hears something crack.

Maybe it's the man's skull.

Good.

The second attacker has his gun trained on Gavin, but the detective rolls out of the way, attempting to minimize his chances for a clean shot. Gavin knows that at this distance, a well-placed bullet will seriously fuck him up. So he keeps moving. The attacker can't keep up with him, his hands shaking around his pistol. It's clear he doesn't do this often. He must be green, someone completely new on the payroll. A fact which will only work to Gavin's advantage.

Gavin lunges forward, rapidly closing the space between them. The assailant's gun is now positioned well past Gavin's right shoulder, rendering it effectively useless. With the heel of his palm, Gavin strikes in an upward motion, making contact with the man's chin. His head snaps backwards at the sheer force.

Disoriented, he stumbles back, giving Gavin enough time to come down with his elbow over the man's outstretched arm. Gavin pulls hard, hearing the angry snap of an arm coming out of its shoulder. The gun falls and rattles onto the ground. The man screams, reaching up to his popped shoulder with pure agony in his eyes. He collapses to the ground, too overwhelmed to continue.

Two down. One to go.

This last bastard's bulkier and taller than the other two. Gavin clenches his jaw. This isn't going to be as easy. His first priority is removing the man's gun from his hands. Gavin won't be able to save anybody with a bullet in his brain. He has his own pistol trained on the assailant's massive frame. The bigger the guy, the bigger the target. They're locked in a stalemate, eyes watching one another like a viper and a mongoose in a pit.

"I'm only going to warn you one more time," snaps Gavin, words clear and clipped. "Put the fucking gun down and get on your knees."

But neither one of them makes a move. The air is thick with tension. This man clearly has no intention of surrendering, and Gavin has no intention of letting him go.

Unstoppable force, meet immovable object.

It's just a shame that the immovable object isn't wearing any Kevlar.

The vicious sound of a single shot rings into the air, bouncing off of the alleyway's brick walls.

* * *

Richard strums his fingers against the kitchen counter. He does so absentmindedly, a weird tick he's noticed pop up from time to time in his programming. He's seen a handful of humans fidget when they're bored or nervous. Perhaps he's spent enough time with humans around that he's finally starting to parrot some of their behaviors. He comes to the conclusion that he's not bored.

He's nervous.

Richard's been monitoring the time. Gavin said he would be right back. The supermarket is only five blocks away. It definitely shouldn't be taking him this long. Four hours to grocery shop? Highly unlikely. Maybe he ran into an old friend, got caught up in conversation. Humans like to do that. They lose track of time so easily.

Maybe Gavin ended up buying more than he could carry. Maybe he's struggling with bags and bags of groceries. But Richard dismisses this possibility immediately. Gavin would have called for help, would have asked Richard to meet him somewhere to help carry things. Gavin's a stubborn and proud man, but he knows he can always call Richard if he needs to.

Richard finds himself fiddling with his wedding band. Gavin has a matching one.

Gavin, sweet Gavin. Sweet-only-for-Richard Gavin.

Richard dials Gavin's number again, only to get his voicemail. Richard hangs up immediately. This isn't like Gavin to not answer. Richard can't shake the feeling that something's gone terribly wrong. He grabs his coat, the black leather one that Gavin bought for him last winter, and slips it on before leaving through the front door.

 _You don't need to wear your CyberLife jacket all the time, moron_.

_But I like it. It was designed specifically for my frame._

_Just wear this one, will you? I don't want my husband looking like he came fresh out the box._

_Would that be so bad? Besides, leather's a bit too kinky for me._

You're _too kinky for me._

_What does that even mean?_

Richard scans his immediate surroundings. It's only a short distance to the supermarket. Surely there's some sign of Gavin  _somewhere_. Maybe he got caught up at the bakery he secretly likes. The old woman who runs the joint loves to sneak him a few extra treats, much to Richard's protest about excessive calories. But when he passes by, Gavin's nowhere to be found.

The android continues down the sidewalk, all the while trying to call Gavin again. No answer.

Richard finds himself in a very rare and peculiar situation of not knowing quite what to do. He can't find his detective anywhere. It's not like Gavin not to call if he's going to be late. Did he stop by the station for some reason? Maybe he should get in contact with Connor or Lieutenant Anderson to see if they've spoken with him. Maybe Officer Chen might have an idea concerning his whereabouts.

And then that's when Richard passes a mass of groceries on the sidewalk. The bags have been discarded, forgotten, a perfect waste of food. Richard scans the contents, quickly identifying the products.

 _Ground beef, ricotta cheese, sweet basil marinara sauce, lasagna noodles, a six-pack of that beer Gavin always likes_.

And then it dawns on him. These were the ingredients Richard requested Gavin get so he could make dinner for him.

His processor is already reconstructing the scene. Judging by the angle at which the groceries were thrown, and the direction in which they lie, the subject in question made a B-line for the nearby alley.

Richard follows the reconstruction, noting things like the current temperature, the distance between the curb at the alley. He comes across two unconscious men, their faces pressed cold into the ground. They're alive, but it looks like they've seen better days.

There are clear signs of a struggle. There are traces of blood on the pavement, accompanied with a violent spray on the brick wall just to Richard's left. There are traces of gunpowder lingering in the air. Richard can practically taste it. He reconstructs the fight, noting that there used to be a vehicle here, as well as a third and forth individual. There's so much information to put together, so little time, so much confusion.

Richard pieces it together in a heartbeat. It looks like these men before him were trying to smuggle something into the van. Richard kneels down and dips his index finger into the red puddle before him, bringing it to his lips to tap onto his tongue. He immediately wants to punch something, to scream.

_O+. Blood sample match: Detective Gavin Reed._

"Shit," he hisses. "Fucking shit."

According to the reconstruction of events, Gavin had held his own fairly well. But judging by the amount of blood and lack of bullet at the crime scene, there was no exit wound. He should have been faster. He should have connected the dots sooner. Richard should have realized something was wrong the second Gavin didn't answer his phone the first time. He should have gone with him. He should have been there to protect him. What was he going to do now? Where was Gavin? Where could he have gone?

_Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck._

Richard's sudden alarm and concern is forgotten momentarily when one of the unconscious men stirs a little, groaning in pain. He doesn't hesitate a moment longer. Richard lifts the man up off the ground by nothing more than his shirt collar. He kicks, he squirms, he struggles.

But it's no use.

"Where's my husband?" the android growls. His words are clipped, sharp like a knife.

"Who? I-I don't know!"

The man's jaw has the unfortunate opportunity to meet the knuckles of Richard's left fist. The suspect coughs, spitting up a bit of blood and what looks to be a tooth or two.

"Where's my husband?" repeats Richard. His tone is cold, but his eyes are raging from the fire behind them.

 The man hurriedly mumbles something, trying to get the words out. But his jaw is already beginning to swell and bruise. He's in too much pain, but he knows that if he doesn't say something, this android may very well kill him.

"P-please," he whines pathetically. He's crying, desperately trying to remember to breathe as Richard's grip on his collar begins to cut off his airway.

"I'm only going to ask you one more time," warns the android. " _Where. Is. My. Fucking. Husband_?"

"I d-don't know!" Richard takes a deep breath and draws back his arm for another swing. "Wait, no please, let me finish!"

" _Talk."_

"I-I can't tell you where he is. I swear I don't know."

"Then you're no use to me."

"Wait, f-for fucks sake!" The man's voice is cracking, fear making him scream several octaves higher. "You mean that cop? I don't know where he is, but I know _who_ took him."

"You should have led with that." Richard slowly lowers the man so that his feet are once again touching the floor. He doesn't need to run a scan to know that the suspect's heart rate is off the chart and that he has the inkling of a hairline fracture in his lower jaw. "I need a name."

"I w-want a deal," the man says first. "If I give you my boss' name, he'll definitely kill me."

"If you don't tell me his name right now,  _I'll_ kill you." Richard's already knocked him silly as it is. He doesn't want to push it.

"Fine," he spits, indignant. "His name is Anatoly Petrov."

It takes Richard a split second to comb through the open cases in the DPD database. No match.

"Russian mob?" he inquires flatly.

"No," the suspect mutters. He's visibly trembling. "He's independent."

"What does he do? Where can I find him?"

"He's a human trafficker. Specializes in kids."

 _Kids_. 

 The word is enough to make Richard's stomach churn. That is, if he had a stomach.

"Where can I find this Anatoly Petrov?" he inquires.

"You don't find him, he finds you," says the man. He's now brought a finger to his mouth, inspecting just how much he needs to visit the dentist.

Richard raises a stark eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

The man pulls a burner phone from his back pocket. "He calls me to do... Er, pickups, I guess you could call them. Tells me when and where to drop of the... Uh... _Merchandise_."

Richard snatches the phone up. It's brand new, so there's no call history to analyze.

"When are you expecting his next call?"

"Soon, I guess."

"The detective. Why did he confront you?"

"We were, er, in the middle of a pickup. I think he heard the boy."

Gavin. Selfless, brave, stupid Gavin.

A terrifying rage overwhelms Richard's processors. He pockets the burner phone and punches the man so hard in the head that the synthetic skin of his knuckles actually cracks. The man's body goes limp, which Richard lets fall without another thought.

_Status: Establishing Connection..._

_Status: Connected!_

_> > RK900 #313248317-87: I need you to come clean up a mess. Alleyway on the corner of Bronton and 54th._

_> > RK800 #313248317-51: Everything alright? _

_> > RK900 #313248317-87: Gavin's missing. Kidnapped. Going after him. I need all the information you can find about a man named Anatoly Petrov._

Before Connor can get the chance to ask what he means, Richard disconnects from the conversation. Richard glances down at the burner phone in his hand. He can't be sure when the phone will go off, but he's gotten enough samples of the unconscious man's voice to be able to answer without raising any suspicion.

"Hold on, Gavin," he hisses to himself.


	2. Promises, Promises

Gavin blinks. And then he blinks again. He's either gone blind, or he's trapped in a dark room.

His right shoulder is distressingly sore, skin cold against the freezing floor he's been lying on.

How long has he been here? Where even is  _here_?

He sits up slowly, reaching out hesitantly in the dark.

Someone is sniffling, holding back sobs. It sounds like a young boy.

"Who's there?" Gavin manages to cough out. His voice is raspy, his vocal cords bruised. He brings a hand to his throat and remembers. Someone had tried to strangle him. They had locked their arms around his windpipe and squeezed the ever loving daylights out of him until all he saw were stars followed by a thick blanket of darkness. But why would someone go through all the trouble? And then it occurs to him.

The boy.

"I want my papa," the child whines. Gavin squints, just able to see the outline of the youngster in front of him. It's a tight space. They're trapped in what's probably no bigger than a broom closet -smaller, even. Gavin takes in a deep breath, trying to remember that this is not the time to panic. This is not the time to remember how claustrophobic he really is. This is not the time to lose it. There's a child here who needs his help; who's scared and alone, and probably just as confused as he is.

"What's your name?" asks Gavin, speaking as calmly and gently as possible. When he swallows, his throat hurts. He sits up and tucks his knees to his chest. He's not thinking about the walls closing in. He's not.

Except he totally is.

"Alex," the boy whimpers.

"Hi, Alex. I'm Gavin. I'm a police officer. I'm going to get us out of here."

"You're a policeman?"

Gavin nods, but remembers that it's so dark the kid probably couldn't see the gesture.

"Yes," he answers. "I am. You're safe with me."

"What are they going to do to us?" sniffles Alex, wiping fruitlessly at the stream of tears that streaks his face. He half chokes on his own running snot and tight throat, sore from hours of crying alone in the dark.

"I don't know," admits Gavin. "But I'm going to protect us. Don't worry. You just gotta trust me, okay?"

"Okay," Alex mumbles, voice small and barely audible.

"You're not hurt, are you? Are you in any pain?"

"I scraped my knee."

"When I get us out of here, we'll get you all patched up. Okay, kid?"

"Okay," the child whines.

"Do you know where we are? Did you overhear the men say anything that could be useful?"

But then Alex starts crying again, overwhelmed by the line of questions. Gavin mentally kicks himself. He'd be bawling his eyes out, too, if he didn't know better. But he was an officer, a fucking fantastic one at that, and this was neither the place nor time to choke.

"Hey," he coos, keeping his voice soft and low. "Hey, it's okay. You've got to be brave for me, buddy. You're going to have to be my assistant, okay?"

Alex sniffles, his nose obviously stuffed and plugged up. "Your assistant? Like a detective?"

Gavin manages to grin in the darkness. "Exactly, bud. You can be my partner, but you have to promise to stay brave for me."

"Right, police officers are brave," the boy mumbles.

The crying eventually ceases, much to Gavin's relief. He doesn't have a lot of experience dealing with children. He's dealt with distraught widows before, but that's different. Children are irrational, harder to reason with. Well, only slightly more irrational. He's had his fair share of horrified family members lash out at him verbally and physically, but still. But this situation is dire, and he can't risk having the boy alerting the kidnappers that they're conscious. The less attention they bring upon themselves, the more time Gavin has to think.

The softest, faintest draft of fresh air whispers across Gavin's face. There's a crack somewhere in this box-like room. Gavin palms the surface that he's lying on. It's a rough fabric of some sort. The fuckers who snagged him were stupid enough to forget to restrain Gavin's wrists, allowing him to feel about his surroundings. Gavin reminds himself to breathe, reminds himself that the walls aren't closing in on him. He reminds himself that everything is going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay because he's been in shittier situations than this before, and depending on how many hours he's been missing, his husband is going to rip Detroit apart until Gavin is found.

 _These fuckers are so screwed_.

 Gavin tries to sit up, but bonks his head against a surface just above him. He hisses, swallowing down the cuss so Alex doesn't have to hear. He continues to feel around, trying to find a door handle, a lever,  _something_. And then it occurs to him.

They're in the back of a trunk. A terrifyingly small, panic-inducing trunk. It's a trunk to one of those older model sedan's that don't have any safety measures built in to it, like a glow-in-the-dark escape latch.

 _Fuck_ _fuck fuck why does the air feel so heavy and so light?_

Gavin cranes his neck to address the boy. "Do you know if we've moved anywhere?"

"I don't think so. We've been stuck here for a while."

"Okay, that's good."

"It is?"

"It means that, whatever they're planning to do, they're thinking it over," explains Gavin. If their kidnappers wanted them dead, they would have killed them both by now. Gavin, for obvious reasons, doesn't state this last realization aloud. It means that Gavin has time to think.

If only a little.

Gavin feels around his belt. He doesn't have his holster on because, no duh, he wasn't on duty when these assholes decided to kidnap a child in broad daylight. His phone is missing, which means one of his assailants must have taken the device off of him. All he can find in the back pocket of his jeans is the ballpoint pen Richard lent him earlier that week.

_How do you lose your pens so quickly?_

_I'm telling you, these jerks you call colleagues will swipe anything that's not theirs. Tina still has my fucking stapler._

_Actually, I do._

_You stapler thief._

_File your reports, my love. I want you to get out of here on time tonight._

Gavin closes his eyes. It's not like he can see anything anyways. He concentrates, listens to the sound of his breathing and frantic heart. Just outside, he can hear the rush of wind, water, lazy seagulls screeching at each other. They're by the bay, that much is clear. But over the crashing of gentle waves, Gavin hears voices mumbling in a foreign language. They're distant, but audible.

It's definitely something Slavic in origin, but Gavin isn't a polyglot. He already finds it a pain in the ass to converse in one language, why need to learn anything else? Besides, it doesn't hurt that his dashing husband can download languages into his system as fast as Gavin can blink.

There are two distinct voices, maybe three. Whoever's outside keep talking over one another so Gavin can't be sure.

"Okay," he says slowly, "I have a plan."

"What are you going to do?" asks Alex, the tone of childish wonderment in his words.

"I need you to call for help. Make as much noise as you can."

"But they'll come over and-"

"Exactly. They'll come over to check on us. That's when we make our move. You just have to promise me one thing."

"What?"

"You have to keep your eyes closed, and you have to stay as still as possible."

"But I don't want to stay in here!"

"I know," says Gavin quickly, hushing the boy. "You said you trust me, right?"

"R-right."

"So trust me. I'll protect you no matter what."

Gavin grips the ballpoint pen tight, click it once to extent the point. His hands are shaking. Adrenaline floods his veins. He knows he only has one shot at this. But it's better than waiting for whatever these fucks have planned.

"Okay," he states. " _Now._ "

"Let me out! Let me out!" Alex screams at the top of his lungs. He bangs on the trunk's walls with his fists, kicks where he's able. "Let me out right now! Let me out!"

"Заткнись, ПИЗДЮК!" someone outside hisses.

Gavin hears the crunching of gravel beneath hurried steps. Alex has managed to draw the attention of at least one of the men. The trunk pops open an inch, which provides Gavin with all the opportunity he needs.

Gavin springs forward, bursting out of the trunk. The rush of fresh air in his lungs charges him, sets him alight. With one powerful swing, he brings the tip of the pen down. He stabs the kidnapper just above the collarbone, digging as deep as he can into flesh and muscle.

The man screams in pain, too shocked to do much else. Gavin immediately spots the piece that's tucked into the waistband of the man's pants. He reaches for it, grips the pistol tight and unlocks the safety in time to see two other main rushing towards him and the kid. Gavin pulls the trigger, placing a neat little bullet in the stabbed man's gut. He moves fluidly, rolling out of the way to dodge hail of bullets.

Alex cries, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut -just as promised. Gavin dashes behind a concrete parking barrier off to the side, drawing off the gunfire. Gavin holds his breath, listens to his heart that's threatening to burst in his chest. He stays as low as he can, pressing his back into the cold concrete.

He waits. He waits for an opening.

Five, seven, eight, nine, ten bullets fired so far. It's only a matter of time before his assailants' cartridges would empty. Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Or was that fourteen? Doesn't matter.

Gavin hears the faintest  _click_ of an empty gun. Now's his chance. Now or never.

The detective pops up from behind the barrier and pulls the trigger twice. His kidnappers are too busy, fumbling with guns, trying to reload. Gavin places two bullets square in each of their chests. They both collapse, dead before they even hit the ground.

His ears are ringing. He can already taste the copper on the wind's breath. It takes him a moment to regain his balance, the swelling of blood to his brain leaving his fingers and toes tingling. He can feel his fucking teeth vibrating with adrenaline.

"Mister Policeman?" calls Alex's tiny, small, distressingly weak and fragile voice.

Gavin snaps back to reality. He rushes over to the boy, patting him down, looking him over.

"You hurt?" he snaps. "Are you hurt?"

"No," answers Alex. "I'm okay. I'm okay."

Gavin sighs in relief. "Thank God."

The detective picks the boy up, holding him up in his arm. Gavin keeps the pistol in his other hand, at the ready. The fight isn't over yet. It's far from over. Gavin glances around his surroundings. They are indeed by the docks, but something's off. This area doesn't look familiar to him. The scent of the sea and rotting fish fill his nose. He's breathing so hard he gags, overwhelmed and over-stimulated.

This isn't Detroit. They're not in Detroit.

_Where the fuck are we?_

But Gavin doesn't have time to ask or look around. He hears the revving of a car engine before he even sees the team of four massive black SUVs screech around the corner. He holds onto Alex tight, stashing the pistol in the waistband of his jeans.

"We have to get out of here," he breathes.

He ducks behind the safety of the nearest wall of a nearby concrete building. The building's tall, abandoned. It's the only thing standing between him, the boy, and whoever the fuck it is that decided to shit on his day off.

"You have to keep quiet, okay?" he whispers hurriedly.

Alex nods, wrapping his arms around Gavin's neck tightly.

"I'm going to get us out of here," Gavin pants. It's a promise, more to himself than the kid, but a promise nonetheless.

And he runs. Just runs.

_Fuck, Richard, wait 'til I get to tell you about my fucking day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading so far! I sincerely apologize for my absence as of late! I've been very busy getting several books ready for publication, but hopefully I'll have a little more time now to dedicate to finishing this series! Please leave comments and share with your friends! My Tumblr unfortunately got deleted in the whole NSFW kerfuffle and I'm too lazy to bring it back. I love reading your loving comments and I can't wait to share with you this story! Much love and happy new year!


	3. Memory Access

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did y'all miss me? Sorry for my absence as of late. I'm working on a book called "To Catch a Jailbird," which is currently in the process of being published. I'll have more information for you soon about how to order it, if you're interested! The publishing process has been kind of hectic, hence the reason I haven't been able to update as often as I'd like. But I promise that everything will have been worth it! I've got some deliciously awful/wonderful things in store for Gavin and his android! ;)

_He doesn't need to sleep. He's an android. Sleep is unnecessary._

_Richard will occasionally place himself on standby, opting to power down whenever Gavin's gone to bed. He mainly does this out of consideration for his fiancee, who argues Richard's moving about at night in the living room or kitchen keeps him awake. So Richard closes his eyes, tucks himself under the warm covers and holds the love of his life tight. Richard enjoys listening to Gavin's easy breathing, loves studying his gentle heartbeat as he dreams about whatever the fuck it is Gavin dreams about._

_Kicking criminal ass, probably. His human idiot does and talks about little else._

_But tonight's different. Tonight, Richard awakes to the scent of cigarette smoke. The soft glow of the lights in the kitchen creep through the gaps of the bedroom door frame. Richard reaches to his side, flat palm against an empty mattress. He sits up and frowns. Most unusual. Richard sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the mattress, confused as to why his sensors hadn't picked up on Gavin's absence earlier. Gavin could be quiet like a fucking cat when he wanted to be._

_Richard silently stalks toward the kitchen, leaning his shoulder against the wall as he drank in the sight of his half-naked fiancee. Gavin's sitting at the kitchen table in nothing more than his pajama bottoms. There's a cigarette balanced between his lips, smoke wafting up in a soft grey cloud. Gavin's looking at something, a square card between his fingers. Richard's advanced enough of a model to be able to tell that Gavin's cortisol levels have been climbing steadily for the past few minutes. Richard can practically taste the stress hormone lingering in the air._

_"You're going to set off the fire alarm," he says softly, just above a whisper._

_Gavin doesn't even turn, shows no sign of surprise. He just flips Richard off. The android knows there isn't anything malicious in this gesture. It's just what his human does when he's not quite ready to talk._

_Richard makes his way over, pulling a kitchen chair over and sits down. He leans forward, presses his forehead to Gavin's shoulder. And then he waits. He knows Gavin better than to rush him. Gavin's thinking, processing. He just needs time. Pushing him before he's ready is a sure-fire way to make him clam up tight._

_The android quickly scans the card in Gavin's hand. It's one of the spare wedding invitations they had set aside for commemorative purposes. Gavin wears a frown, his brows slanted together into a tight point. Thinking, thinking, thinking. Finally, he sighs, thoroughly frustrated. He tilts his head and rests it atop of Richard's, plucks his cigarette from his lips and holds it between his index and middle finger._

_"Should I invite them?" he finally asks._

_Richard doesn't respond. He just looks up at his human, attentive grey eyes wide and questioning._

_Gavin taps the lit end of his cigarette into the tiny plate he's using as a substitute ash tray. He squishes the bud with his thumb, effectively putting it out. He leans back in his chair, the wooden frame creaking under his weight._

_"I don't think my mother would even come to the wedding." There's hesitation in his eyes. "But I should still invite her, right? Like, for my sake and all that shit."_

_"Do you_ want _to invite her?" asks Richard, tone low and soothing._

_"Fuck no," he spits._

_"But?"_

_A beat. Gavin chews the inside of his cheek._

_"I just..." he hesitates, failing to find the words he needs. "What if... God. It's so fucked up."_

_"What is?"_

_"She's never been there. My whole fucking life, she's never been there when I really needed her. And now I'm the one who feels like shit for not wanting to include her. Isn't that just fucked up?"_

_Richard sits straight as he takes the wedding invitation. He places the delicate card stock down on the table and takes Gavin's hand, giving it a squeeze._

_"Worst case scenario," the android starts, "you send her an invitation. What happens next?"_

_"She shows up. Makes a scene. She's not exactly on board with the whole androids-are-people thing."_

_"Okay. She makes a scene. Then what?"_

_Gavin sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose, tense._

_"I guess... We'd just kick her out. Actually, you'd probably be the one to do it, knowing your crazy ass."_

_Richard chuckles. "I would never let that woman ruin things for you. I'd make sure she never bothered you ever again."_

_"You make that sound super ominous," Gavin snorts. "You're not going to murder her, are you?"_

_"No," admits Richard. "I'm not going to murder my mother-in-law. No matter how much of cunt she is."_

_Gavin laughs. Richard visibly relaxes. This is the Gavin he knows and loves._

_Another beat. The silence that falls between them isn't as intense, but Gavin's cortisol levels haven't returned to normal yet._

_"You said 'them,'" notes Richard, a curious glint in his eyes._

_Gavin worries his bottom lip with his teeth. Again, Richard doesn't push._

_"I was just... I was just thinking about my father."_

_Gavin's father. They_ never _spoke about his father._

_As far as Richard was concerned, Gavin's father didn't exist. He wasn't important. He was even more absent from Gavin's life than his mother. By default, this made him the worst parental figure._

_"Were you thinking about inviting him?" asked Richard._

_Gavin scoffs. "Yeah. I thought about it."_

_"But?"_

_"I don't even know where to send the fucking thing," he grumbles. Gavin's voice is small, heartbreakingly so._

_Richard reaches out, cups his human's face with all the tenderness he can muster._

_"What do you want to do, love?" he whispers. "We can look him up, if you want. Shouldn't take me too long to track him down for you."_

_But Gavin shakes his head. He wraps his arms around Richard's neck and pulls him into a tight hug. He breathes deeply, maintaining his composure as best he can._

_"No, baby," he mutters into the crook of Richard's neck. "Forget it, okay? Let's just go back to bed."_

_"Gavin-"_

_"It's cool, baby. I'm fine." Gavin manages a smile. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Come on. I'm fucking exhausted."_

_Gavin stands, taking Richard's hand in his own before leading them back toward the bedroom. They climb back into bed together, quickly tangling themselves in each other's arms and legs. Richard presses his lips to Gavin's forehead, taking in the scent of his human's hair. It doesn't take very long before Gavin's snoring, his troubles temporarily forgotten._

_Richard watches his fiancee, thoroughly fascinated by the process. He keeps his core functions running, completing routine scans and software updates. He watches Gavin's chest rise and fall, watches how his eyes twitch beneath his eyelids as he falls into a deep REM cycle._

_Humans need to sleep. Sleep is necessary._

* * *

When the phone rings, Richard answers immediately. Connor is in the room with him, but nothing needs to be said. His predecessor is already running a trace, trying to triangulate the caller's physical location.

"You've got some fucking nerve," comes a heavily accented man's voice.

"Anatoly Petrov?" asks Richard. There's really no need to confirm his suspicions. He  _knows_ this is the bastard.

"The one and only," Petrov responds smugly. "And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with today?"

"My name is Richard."  _Reed_ , he wants to add, but he's not exactly here to make pleasantries. "I'm an investigative android with the Detroit Police Department."

"An android? Wow, I've never actually spoken to a real _live_ android before." There's something mocking in the man's tone. Taunting. "I hear our men got a little tangled up today," hums Petrov. "Really quite a shame."

"You have one of our men," states the android clearly. His words are cold, sharp enough to cut.

"Oh, I know. He's turning out to be a much bigger pain in my ass than I thought he'd be."

A sudden rush of anxiety washes over Richard, threatens to drown him. Gavin. Does this mean he's alive? He's okay? If he's being a pain in the ass, he  _has_ to be okay.

"I want you to return him unharmed."

Petrov clicks his tongue. "You're really not in a position to be making demands, Dick. Can I call you Dick? My best friend growing up was named Richard, too. We called him Dicky."

"Return Detective Reed to us this instant!" exclaims Richard. Why was Petrov so calm about all this? Why did he have the nerve to string him along?

Because Petrov isn't calling to bargain. There's nothing he wants.

Which means Gavin is in a whole lot of danger.

Richard shoots Connor a glance, who subtly shakes his head. He still hasn't tracked the call. He needs more time. Richard needs to figure out how to stall him.

"What do you want?" he asks, as futile as the question may be.

"What do  _I_ want?" snorts Petrov. "Nothing at all."

"I can pay you for his safe return. If it's money you want, it's not going to be an issue."

Petrov laughs. "You're showing all your cards, Dicky. You're not very good at this whole negotiation thing, are you?"

Richard bites back a vicious comment. He was literally  _designed_ for negotiating. Negotiation just wasn't the play he was going for right now.

Over the receiver, Richard can hear some sort of commotion. It sounds like a child. He's yelling for help. His voice sounds distant, muffled and impossible to hear clearly.

"Заткнись, ПИЗДЮК!" Petrov hisses.

_> >TRANSLATION: SHUT UP, FUCKER!_

Suddenly, Petrov lets out a blood curdling scream. Richard listens. Just listens. Because that's all he can do while Connor traces the call. He listens for clues, tries to figure out what's going on based on auditory cues alone. Gunshots fire. There's a boy crying in the background, clearer now. Angry men shout. Ten, eleven, twelve shots ring out, piercing the air.

And then it's all over. Quiet.

Richard doesn't know what to do. What the fuck just happened? 

"Petrov?" he calls into the receiver. No response.

And then suddenly, he hears a voice. All of Richard's programming goes into overdrive.

"You hurt?" comes Gavin's voice. The sound isn't clear. There's static over the phone, distance making it difficult to achieve perfect clarity. "Are you hurt?"

"No. I'm okay. I'm okay."

Gavin sighs. "Thank God."

"Gavin!" Richard shouts. "Gavin, can you hear me?"

But there's no response. Petrov must have dropped his phone nearby.

"We have to get out of here," Gavin says breathlessly to the boy. He sounds weak, exhausted. "You have to keep quiet, okay? I'm going to get us out of here."

"Gavin!" Richard screams into the receiver. It's futile. Gavin has no idea.

The call ends, the line on the other side going dead. Richard turns to Connor, frantic.

"Well?" he urges. He wants to punch something. He wants to scream. But he knows there's no logical point in any of it. He needs to focus on finding his husband. That's all that matters. He needs to find his husband and if Connor wasn't able to trace the call, he'd be absolutely beside himself.

"I traced their location," confirms Connor calmly.

"Where is he?"

Connor frowns, almost like he's not entirely confident in his answer. Richard takes two massive strides and closes the gap between them. He grabs his predecessor by the shoulders, shakes him violently.

"Where is he?" Richard repeats, voice on the brink of shattering.

"Canada," answers Connor. "He's in Canada."


	4. Big Spoon

He doesn't get very far. Not with a heavy child in his arms and a bullet wound he needs to nurse. Gavin's entirely surprised he even managed to slip away unnoticed. The reinforcements --whoever the fuck they are-- showed up so quickly that he was sure he'd be recaptured. But his feet carry him forward, working on nothing but the high of his adrenaline rush and need to survive. When he finally collapses, he isn't surprised. They manage to find an abandoned alleyway, tucked away from the rest of the world.

Alex tugs at his sleeve with tears streaming down his chubby cheeks.

"Please, Mr. Policeman!" he whimpers. "You have to get up."

"I'm comin', kid. I'm comin'. I just need..." Gavin's voice trails off.

He needs time. Time to think. And he needs blood. Because Lord knows he's running out of that shit fast.

But Gavin doesn't want to frighten the boy, doesn't want to say anything that might alarm him. He's just as scared and just as confused. Panicking is the last thing he wants to do right now, so he shuts his eyes and concentrates.

"I need you to do me a favor, okay?" he asks Alex, voice raspy and thin.

"What?"

"I need you to go get help."

"But what if those bad men come back to get me? They'll take me away again."

Gavin shakes his head. Swallows. He tastes the iron and salt at the back of his tongue. God, he just wants to vomit.

"That's why you need to be careful," he tells him firmly. "I can't go much further without your help, kiddo."

"But I-"

"I know you're scared. But you have to be brave for me, buddy, okay? You remember that coffee shop we ran past? Just around the corner?"

Alex wipes his nose with the back of his forearm. It's gross, but oddly adorable at the same time. The boy manages to nod, lets out a shaky exhale.

"I want you to run in there and stay there. Got it? You need to go up to the person behind the counter and ask to borrow their phone. I need you to call the police."

Alex looks a little confused. "But you  _are_ the police."

"I know, I know. But we're..."

 _We're in an entirely different fucking country_.

"We need backup, kid."

"Like how Batman has Robin?"

Gavin manages to chuckle. It hurts, but it's so worth it.

"Yeah, kiddo. But more like how Batman has the Justice League."

Alex beams, puffing out his chest like the superheroes he idolizes.

"Call the police and tell them to come and find me, okay?"

"Okay. You can count on me!"

The child runs off, running as fast as his tiny feet can carry him.

Gavin sighs as he rests his head against the cold brick wall that he's propped up against. He's hidden away behind a brown industrial-sized garbage pin, soaking in a frigid puddle of water. He runs a hand along his left side, very aware of the gaping hole that's there. There are a clear entrance and exit wound, but he's fairly certain that none of his organs have been hit. He pants, desperate to try and catch his breath.

He knows he's in trouble. He doesn't have his wallet, his phone, or any fucking clue where he is. Apart from the occasional red and white maple leaf flag hanging outside of municipal buildings, all he knows is that he and Alex somehow made it across the border. The tips of his fingers and toes are tingling, drawing forth images of salt and pepper static on the CRT he had growing up. His mother pawned the damn thing at some point --for cash, he remembers-- in order to pay the bills.

He's terribly cold, knows that he isn't going to last much longer. But the combination of blood loss and adrenaline leaves him in a terrible state of paranoia. Who's after them? What do these people want? Why are they after the kid in the first place? Even half-dead and freezing, Gavin knows that above all else, he's a detective.

Gavin closes eyes. Just for a moment. Just to grab a second of rest. But he jolts awake a few moments later, realizing just how quickly he's starting to drift off. Darkness begins to encroach at the edge of his vision, leaving everything else blurry and indistinguishable. He thinks a nap would be nice. Just a short one. Just enough to catch his breath. And then maybe...

He jolts awake again, slaps himself across the face. He hopes the sting on his cheek will keep him alert.

"Come on, you fuck," he hisses to himself.

 _Come to bed, love_.

He knows it's his imagination, but Richard's voice sounds so clear in his mind. Gavin questions his sanity for a moment, entirely too exhausted to keep fighting.

 _You can be the big spoon, if you want_.

"Don't tempt me, tin can," he grumbles.

But then a massive wave of weariness washes over him, gently drags him under as he closes his eyes. He suddenly feels warm, but numb at the same time. He can vividly imagine Richard's body pressed to his, automatically adjusting to keep Gavin at an ideal temperature. It's one of the many benefits of being married to an android. Not only are they dedicated, strong, thoughtful, perfect in every way, but they also happen to be portable heaters. It's absolutely fantastic when the colder months roll around.

_Close your eyes, darling._

"Can't, babe," he spits out. The sound of his one voice startles him. It sounds foreign, like it doesn't belong to him anymore. "Gotta... Gotta stay awake."

 _Why?_   _Wouldn't it be easier just to rest?_

"Gotta get back to you," mumbles Gavin.

And then sleep takes him. There's nothing else he can do.

* * *

  _He remembers screaming at the top of his lungs. He doesn't even remember how the fight began. It's as though one moment he and Richard were enjoying a wonderful dinner. And then Gavin blinks and suddenly they're in a massive fight._

 _They_ never _fight_.  _Not like this, at least. No couple is perfect. If they are, something's seriously wrong. But Gavin seriously can't remember the last time he was this angry, and at Richard, no less._

_"I told you to drop it," he snaps._

_"I don't see what the big deal is," argues the android. Cool. Calm. Collected._

_That perfect android fuck._

_"You don't see-- Are you fucking kidding me?"_

_"You're blowing this out of proportion, Gavin."_

_"You looked up my father's address when I told you_ not _to."_

_"You don't have to do anything with this information."_

_Gavin scratches his head, digging into his scalp with the tips of his fingers. He lets out a frustrated sigh, temples throbbing along with his quickened heartbeat._

_"I told you to drop it," he says again. Because he can't think of anything to say. He's never been a particularly articulate fellow._

_"It's just an address," Richard quips. He stands firm, arms crossed in front of his chest. The slightest frown pulls his brows together._

_Gavin knows that it's his version of being really riled up._

_"It doesn't matter. I told you that I didn't care, that I didn't want you to bother."_

_"I was trying to be considerate, love. You seemed very upset about considering a scenario where you didn't at least consider inviting your father."_

_Richard refers to him as 'love' deliberately. He never does anything without a reason. Richard can see Gavin relax a little, the tension in his shoulders dissipating momentarily. But then the tension comes back, as tight and vicious as before._

_"Yeah, okay, sure. I was upset. But then I got over it like a big boy and told you to leave it alone."_

_"Why is it such a big deal if I looked him up? I thought you'd be glad. Maybe you can finally address all these father issues you seem to be harboring."_

_"'Father issues,'" Gavin mocks, rolling his eyes. "The proper term is 'daddy issues.'"_

_"Semantics," the android dismisses._

_"And I don't have daddy issues. I'm a perfectly healthy, sane human being."_

_"Sure you are." Richard's words drip with doubt. "You're a perfectly healthy and sane human being that is having a healthy emotional outburst because everything's fine."_

_"Don't fuck with me, tin can."_

_"Send the invitation, or don't. I don't care, Gavin. I told you, it's really not that big of a deal."_

_"It is to me!" Gavin roars. He picks up the stupid piece of parchment that has his father's addressed scrawled on it in perfect CyberLife Sans. He crumples the paper in his fist and throws it at Richard from across the kitchen._

_It lands rather unceremoniously on the linoleum floor after ricocheting off of Richard's chest._

_A heavy silence falls over them. The android chooses to remain silence, offering Gavin enough time to pull together a coherent thought._

_"I went my whole life without knowing where he was," he finally mumbles, casting his eyes down to the floor in shame. "It was easier. It was easier to not know where he was. It was like he didn't exist. It was my way of making sure I would never look for him. Never ask for his help for shit. He was a broken crutch that I didn't want to need."_

_Richard takes a careful step forward, testing the waters. Gavin doesn't make an attempt to move away, to step back. So Richard continues until he's managed to wrap his arms around his human. He remains perfectly still, gives Gavin the time to breathe and calm down._

_"Now I know he was just across the lake," Gavin says, voice fragile and thin. "This whole fucking time, he was across the fucking lake."_

_Richard presses gentle kisses into Gavin's hair, breathes in the scent of his shampoo and aftershave. It's nice. It's familiar and warm._

_It's home._

_"Now I know he could have visited us any time," continues Gavin. He's processing. He's letting it all out. "He was a two-hour drive away, dammit. London fucking Ontario. And not_ once _did he come back to visit. Not once." Gavin grips the fabric of Richard's shirt, does his best to keep himself from shaking._

_"I'm sorry, love," Richard says slowly. "I'm so sorry. I overstepped. Please, forgive me."_

_Gavin doesn't cry, because fucking dammit he's a grown ass man and he will_ not _allow himself to cry._

_But he lets himself be held until, finally, his heart is calm._

_"I love you, meat sack," says Richard gently. It's an apology, above all else._

_"Love you, too, tin can."_

* * *

Someone shakes him awake. Gavin snorts, is very aware of the drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. The sound that he makes when he comes to is vulgar.

"The fuck-"

"Mr. Policeman!" shouts Alex. He's crouched over, looking Gavin right in the eye. He looks incredibly worried, on the brink of tears. "I found help!" he announces.

Gavin manages to sit up enough to see three other figures standing before him. The party consists of a little girl, a young Caucasian woman, and an African man.

Gavin blinks. And then he blinks again.

These aren't humans, he realizes. These are androids. He recognizes their models: an AX400, a YK500, and a TR400.

Alex points to the man, who's now crouched down to get a better look at the ailing detective.

"This is Luther," explains Alex. "And this is Kara and Alice. Everyone, this is Mr. Policeman."

The one named Kara glances over to Luther, nervous. "What do we do? I didn't expect him to be a-"

"We'll take him back with us. He needs medical attention."

"Where are you taking me?" snaps Gavin. "I can't... We're not..."

He's unable to find the right words. He's so dizzy that he's about to pass out again.

"Can you help him, Miss Kara?" asks Alex, anxiously tugging on her hand.

She seems like a sweet little thing. She smiles, but there's nothing but worry behind her eyes. She crouches down so that she's eye level with the boy.

"We'll do our best. But he's a human, and they require a different kind of attention when they're hurt."

Alex nods, fully absorbing the things she says.

Luther reaches for Gavin and picks him up --bridal style, much to Gavin's embarrassment-- before quickly turning to his fellow androids. "We need to move quickly. You said somebody was after you?"

"Yes. Some really bad guys," confirms Alex.

"Where are you taking me?" Gavin manages to blurt. Why did Luther have to pick him up so fast? Why is the sky spinning? What terrible fucking ride is he on? He'd very much like to get off now, thank you very much. Oh, fuck is he going to hurl or what?

"Relax," coos the little girl. "Everything's going to be okay." She's taken it upon herself to hold Alex's hand, to act as his guide. Gavin would think it's sweet, really.

Of course, if he wasn't about to die and all that jazz.

"We're going somewhere safe," explains Kara. She glances over her shoulder, ensuring the coast is clear.

"I need to call my..." Fuck. What's the word? What even are words? What is language? How does one form a sentence? "My --fuck-- I need to call my husband," Gavin chokes.

"We need to make sure you don't die first," argues Luther. "Then we'll call him for you."

"Promise?" He sounds so pathetically weak right now he just wants to die. Why do his legs feel so fucking heavy? God, blood loss is a fucking bitch.

"Promise," confirms Kara with a curt nod.

Gavin doesn't know if he can trust these androids. Not because he's prejudice or anything like that. He's  _married_ to an android, for fuck's sake. But they're strangers and he's in another country with no ID, no money, no clue what the fuck is going on. But a part of him --a  _really_ small part of him-- feels safe. It's not much, but it's something. And quite frankly, his body just doesn't have the energy to stay conscious any longer.

His vision swirls, his hearing fades.

Gavin drifts off with thoughts of Richard's beautiful, hypnotizing grey eyes.

_Come to bed, love. Come to bed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡☉ ͜ʖ ͡☉) Hehehe I love being cruel to my darling gay beans. I swear to God if they don't get a happy ending I'mma throw a fit on all you peeps' behalves. ( ͡☉ ͜ʖ ͡☉) But on the plus side, Kara, Alice, and Luther are here! (˵ ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°˵)ﾉ⌒♡*:･。.


	5. Running On Empty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for taking almost two months to get this chapter out. I have been depressed AF and swamped with work, which as it turns out, is a terrible combination. Please feel free to leave comments if you liked this chapter. Every single one legitimately brightens my day.

Richard decides that he doesn't like it. This feeling of being empty.

Logically, he supposes, he knows that he isn't  _empty_. He consists of a multitude of biocomponents, intricate connections of wires, processors, warm thirium pumping through his veins.

But he hates the feeling of looking to his side to realize that Gavin isn't there. His absence has left a vacuum, a space that Richard so desperately wants to fill.

So, when they finally get to cross the border after a two-hour debacle with the Canadian border security, Richard is understandably irritated.

"Fucking unbelievable," hisses Hank, scratching behind his ear as he clenches his jaw. "We had the paperwork and everything. Canadian assholes."

Connor winces at the lieutenant's comment, places a reassuring hand on his human's shoulder. "It's alright, lieutenant," he says, voice low and soothing. "We're not considered people in this country."

"Ridiculous," the older man spits. "Can't believe I had to claim you two as personal healthcare _equipment_  just to get you across."

Richard isn't listening. Not really. His audio processors pick everything up for analysis, but it's all running in the background. He's too focused on the audio file of the phone call. He creates a map of sorts, using the audio to create the shape of Gavin's last known surroundings. It's not exactly a difficult task for a model like Richard. He's state of the art, after all. Creating a sound map is as easy as doing the Sunday crossword. He listens to the echoes, the vibrations. He determines the distance of hard barriers, or lack thereof. It's nothing elegant against his visual display, just a canvas of black and white. It's darker where the sound ricochets and lighter where it doesn't. It takes Richard all of two minutes to come up with a blurry image.

_Status: Establishing Connection..._

_Status: Connected!_

_> > RK900 #313248317-87: Take this. [See attached file 120.54.57]_

_> > RK800 #313248317-51: This isn't very much to work with._

_> > RK900 #313248317-87: At least it's something._

_> > RK800 #313248317-51: Is that water I'm looking at?_

_> > RK900 #313248317-87: When you traced the call, you said it looked really close to the lake, right?_

_> > RK800 #313248317-51: Affirmative._

_> > RK900 #313248317-87: Then let's triangulate as best way can and determine which harbor we need to be._

_> > RK800 #313248317-51: Already on it. Try to relax, okay?_

Richard shoots Connor a glare.

_> > RK900 #313248317-87: Believe me, I'm doing my very best._

_> > RK800 #313248317-51: Richard, I didn't mean to--_

_> > RK900 #313248317-87: There was gunfire, Connor. Gunfire. There were traces of blood where Gavin was kidnapped. He's hurt and he needs me. Don't tell me to relax._

_> > RK800 #313248317-51: I'm sorry._

Hank walks over and slaps Connor on the shoulder, bringing their conversation to an abrupt halt. "I spoke to one of the border guards. Looks like there was a bit of a disturbance nearby. Firefight or some shit."

"Let's go investigate," states Richard flatly.

"Hold your horses, cowboy," the lieutenant interrupts. "We're out of our jurisdiction. I want to find Reed, too, but you have to remember we don't have home field advantage."

But Richard doesn't listen. He's already managed to break through the local police force's private servers, navigating past firewall after firewall until he found the exact file he was looking for.

"I've got the coordinates," he announces hurriedly, already taking a step forward. He breezes past the lieutenant and his predecessor without another word.

Hank frowns, gesturing with his hands incredulously. "All fucking right, then, I guess. Don't mind me. I'm apparently just some geriatric."

"Now, now, lieutenant," says Connor reassuringly, although he deliberately fails to hide the amusement in his tone.

* * *

_It's going to be a small wedding. On Richard's side, at least. He'd formally invited Connor, of course. But that was about it. He wasn't acquainted with the androids from Jericho like Connor was. He didn't spend that much time developing personal relationships in the early months of his activation. There hadn't been a need. But now, sitting on the brown leather couch in the living room with his fiancé  --who is now pouring over the guest list-- it's painfully obvious how few friends Richard has._

_"For the last time," he says, the edge of frustration dragging down his words, "it's not that big of a deal to me."_

_"Don't you... I don't know. Don't you get lonely or some shit?" asks Gavin. He drags the pad of his index finger down his column of invited wedding guests._

_Chen. Anderson. Collins. Fowler. Lewis. Miller. Wilson. The boys down in the morgue. Kamski, obviously, but only because he'd offered to pay for the damn shindig. He wasn't that shitty of a brother, after all._

_His mother's name is notably absent._

_"No," Richard answers flatly._

_"Bullshit. Everyone gets lonely."_

_"Do you?"_

_Gavin tips his chin up and frowns at Richard down his nose. "We're talking about you here. Don't try and deflect. That shit ain't going to work on me."_

_"Ah, you know me too well."_

_The detective snorts and rolls his eyes. "I should fucking hope so. We're about to be husbands." Gavin shifts in his seat, throwing an arm over the back of the couch so he can lean in. "Be honest, babe. Do you get lonely?"_

_"No," he says again. "Since I've been... Since I've been alive, you've_ _always been there. You've never given me the opportunity to know loneliness. And for that, I'm grateful."_

_Gavin stares at Richard for a moment and sighs, unsure what to say or do. He can't figure out anything snarky to say, can't come up with a witty retort. He opts for leaning in, closing the space between them, to press his lips against Richard's temple. "I'll never leave you," the detective whispers. "Not if I can help it."_

_"You're not getting soft on me, are you?" Richard hums, offering a small grin._

_"If you tell anyone at work, I'll kick your ass." There's no heat behind his words, just something familiar and warm._

_"I would love to see you try."_

_Gavin, never one to back down from a challenge, abandons the list and instead pins Richard's hands above his head, pressing him flat against the cushions. Their lips find each other easily, drawn together like magnets. Except, of course, not magnets because that would probably fry the chips inside Richard's head._ _Richard can easily break free of Gavin's hold, but he knows his detective likes to think he's incredibly strong. So Richard lets Gavin take control, lets the man pepper heated kisses along his jaw long, down his neck. They lie together, kissing and laughing and loving well after the sun disappears behind the Detroit skyline._

* * *

The entire area is closed off. Bright yellow police tape perimeters the site of the shooting, and several RCMP officers are still busy with their investigations. When Richard completes his initial reconstruction of the scene, a flicker of concern nags at his processing unit. There's too much to work with, so much detail that he needs to filter through. It definitely doesn't help that he can't get any closer to take samples or view things from a different angle. He's just going to have to make do.

He has to.

There were several vehicles, many now missing. The black sedan --a '72 Cadillac DeVille 472-- is still at the scene, abandoned. There are a number of fresh bullet holes piercing through its exterior. The trunk is popped open. When Richard plays back the reconstruction, he can tell with near complete certainty that Gavin had been trapped there. There's a digital construction of someone smaller right by Gavin's side. It's a boy, no older than twelve.

Red has stained the interior of the trunk.

Richard watches as the scenario plays out. Gavin takes one of several unidentified assailants down with a swift stabbing motion. The RK900 doesn't have enough information to determine what kind of weapon the detective used. It ultimately doesn't matter. What does matter is that it was  _effective_. Gavin grabs hold of the boy and carries him in his arms, running for cover behind a concrete divider.

The android curls his fingers into a tight fist, digging his nails into the flesh of his palms. He can easily calculate the projection of bullets fired from the holes left on the other side of the barrier. Gavin was under heavy fire. And judging by the now browning moistness on the ground, he'd been bleeding profusely. But despite the blood loss, despite being outnumbered, he refused to surrender. He's the type to put up a fight, even if the odds were stacked against him.

Of course he was. _Is_. He's Gavin fucking Reed.

Richard continues to play the reconstruction, grinding his teeth together as it flashes across his visual display. Gavin managed to escape, due west. The splotchy trail of red on the ground that makes its way past the police tape and down the road is, unfortunately, all Richard needs to continue his search.

"He's injured," he hisses through his teeth. Richard's feet carry him forth before Hank can even shoot Connor a concerned look. "This way."

Richard's always been determined. When he has a task, he sees it through. He knows for a fact that he can get the job done.

But this time's different. There's an urgency behind every step. There's a bitterness in the back of his throat he never thought possible to taste. He's equipped with the latest sensors, but they've all been pushed to the side in favor of his visual scanner. It's the android version of tunnel vision, he realizes.

His nerves are fried, even though he knows that's an impossibility. He's not shorting out, but he certainly feels that way. His own breathing --an entirely superficial function-- is too loud in his own ears. His regulating pump is circulating thirium at three times the necessary output. The light of the sun is too bright. The chill of the air against his skin fucking  _burns_. None of it makes sense at all.

Richard understands what fear is at a base level. He's read about it. He's seen humans experience the emotion. He's even seen androids break down as a result of it. But he's never experienced it personally.

Not until now.

Richard finds himself picking up the pace, his brisk walk transforming into a frantic sprint when the trail of blood starts to peter off. He  _has_ to find his husband. He doesn't know what he'll do if he loses the trail.

_> >WARNING. Stress Level = 78%_

He finds himself in a grimy alleyway. Gavin's nowhere to be found. There's a streak of dried blood upon one of the alley's brick walls where Gavin must have propped himself up. Judging by the tiny footprints left in the dirt, Gavin placed the boy down. There are three other sets of footprints in the alley. None of them match Gavin's shoe size. Someone must have come and found him, taken him away. It's the only explanation.

Richard's able to make a rough reconstruction. The heavyset footprints no doubt belong to a man, a rather tall one at that. What woman wears size 16 double-wide boots? The second set belongs to someone smaller, shoe size 7. The last pair belongs to someone significantly smaller, younger. They're not the same as the little boys.

He frowns. Did a family happen to stumble across his detective? If they had, surely they would have enough sense to bring Gavin to a nearby hospital.

The android closes his eyes to access local medical records just as Hank and Connor approach from around the corner. The lieutenant is understandably red in the cheeks and entirely out of breath. Connor, apart for the loose strands of hair that fall before his brow, looks like he hadn't been running at all.

"Anything?" inquires Connor.

There are no reports of a 36-year-old Caucasian man being admitted anywhere near here.

"No," Richard growls. "But he was here. He was-" He cuts himself off, on the verge of snapping. Richard's hands shake uncontrollably. Is there something wrong with his motor controls?

No. That's not it. He knows what's wrong.

He's  _scared_.

_> >WARNING. Stress Level = 92%_

Connor crouches down to examine the footprints and frowns at the data he's able to collect. With nimble fingers, he reaches for something. The RK800 manages to pick up a single strand of hair, dyed white.

An  _incredibly_ lucky find.

"This belongs to an AX400," he says calmly.

"How the hell can you tell?" asks Hank, still trying to catch his breath. The lieutenant leans against the wall, one hand balanced on his hip.

"Because I know her."

"What?" snaps Richard.

"Her name is Kara," he explains. "The lieutenant and I were once assigned to investigate her and bring her in. Before the revolution. She had a little girl with her. They managed to escape apprehension, and we later met up at Jericho by pure chance. I wasn't sure what happened to her after Jericho was swatted. I guess she made it to Canada, after all."

Something akin to hope rises in Richard's chest. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"How do we locate her?"

Connor presses his lips together and contemplates the question briefly. "We have to assume she lives in the area. It's highly likely we'll be able to identify her if we show her picture to some of the locals."

"I saw a Tim Horton's a block thataway," offers Hank, straightening his back slightly. "We can start there."

Richard nods but remains silent. He's so fucking close that he doesn't know what to do with himself. He can't speak. He can't think. He can't do _anything_. He wants to speed up their investigation. He _wills_ progress to move faster. He can't stand the thought of wasting another minute. Detective Gavin Reed is missing.  _His_ Gavin Reed. And if something happens to his human, he swears to God that there's going to be hell to pay.

He clenches and unclenches his hands. What if he never gets to touch Gavin again? What if he never gets to admire his warmth? His scent? Listen to that deliciously gruff voice that's always full of snark? What if he never gets to see Gavin smile? Never again hears him call Richard's name? What if Richard has to wake up every day in an empty bed because he failed to bring his husband home? He can't bear the thought of a future without him.

It'd be too damn lonely.

_> >WARNING. Stress Level = 98%_


End file.
